


Ocean Eyes

by lc_writesnread



Category: Ben Hardy - Fandom, Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Freddie Mercury - Fandom, John Deacon - Fandom, Queen (Band), brian may - Fandom, roger taylor - Fandom
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Recreational Drug Use, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lc_writesnread/pseuds/lc_writesnread
Summary: You’re new in town and a blue-eyed boy caught your attention. You grow up to be best friends, but the possibility of being more is always haunting the two of you. Reader is also an art student who draws Roger constantly.





	Ocean Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this for @yourealegendfred’s tumblr 3k words song inspired challenge. I have been trying to write this for a while now, but the story was missing a middle part, and that’s where @pigfish27 comes in on tumblr with a beautiful request that was already very similar to my idea for the fic (with the reader being very artistic and such), and honestly, don’t know how I’d write this without her idea, so thank you!! Thank you too for the challenge and song inspo, @yourealegendfred. I chose this song because 1) I like Billie Eilish 2) Roger’s eyes are very hypnotic. If it’s your first time reading my work, hi! I adore Roger Taylor and I write a lot about him, including a long ass, 17 parts at the moment, fanfic, if you want to check it out.

**Ocean Eyes - Billie Eilish**

_I’ve been watching you_

_For some time_

You remember the first time you saw Roger. You just moved to a new city, your 15th city in your 14 years, and you just got to school. Your mom promised you’d stop moving, but you didn’t really believe her. You had no reason to.

So you got there, your school uniform ill fitting, and as you said goodbye to your mom in the car, you saw him. His hair was longer than the rest of the boys, his uniform shirt was creased, the first buttons open, his tie undone.

You watched him step on a cigarette butt on the ground as he held another one between his fingers. You couldn’t believe how blue his eyes were behind all the smoke around his face.

Not only in color. He was joking with his friends, and you could hear them laughing, but he looked sad, his eyes unable to hide how blue he really was.

You recognized those eyes. Eyes like that looked right back at you every time you looked in the mirror.

He looked back into your eyes, too.

_Can’t stop staring_

_At those oceans eyes_

But you only spoke for the first time in detention. You didn’t knew why was he there; you got caught sleeping in bio again. You were drawing, trying to make time go by faster, when a hand pressed against your table. It was big in comparison to yours, and you noticed how callous it looked. You looked up and was met with his eyes.

“Could you borrow me a pencil?”, he said, a smirk on his lips.

“Sure”, you told him, and gave him one.

“What are you doing?”, he said, as he sat back into his chair, scribbling something in a piece of paper in front of him.

“I’m drawing”, you said. You only realised you sketched his hand a few minutes later. You looked at him, watching as he wrote something in the piece of paper. The word  _“drowse”_  covered the paper.

“Are you really drawing? Or are you watching me?”, he said, aggressive after realizing you read what he wrote, moving the paper away from you. His eyes stared into yours. Angry.

“I can do both. I’m drawing you”, you snapped back, and he looked surprised that you weren’t intimidated by him. He smirked. “Do you want me to pose?”, he asked. “Just look at me”, you told him, sketching his eyes.

_Burning cities_

_And napalm skies_

_Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes_

_Your ocean eyes_

You drew him a lot. He used to call himself your muse. You drew him drumming, his eyes narrowed at the effort. You drew him when he had his arms wrapped around some girl at a party.

You grew closer together, bonding over how you disliked that town. You couldn’t believe this was the city that your mom settled on. Roger and you would complain about that as you shared a blunt on the side of the river behind your school, the sound of the running water muffling your complaints.

He liked how you never seemed uncomfortable around him, even when he was being cocky, and you liked how honest he was around you, never treating you like one of the girls he flirted with, just treating you as an equal to him.

_No fair_

_You really know how to make me cry_

_When you gimme those ocean eyes_

It wasn’t until when you both moved to London for school that it happened for the first time. You both shared a flat, and you were sitting on the couch, drinking and smoking while listening to My Sweet Lord on repeat, and he was complaining, as usual. About the band he was in, about his classes, about the girls he was seeing.

You turned to him and said “God, Taylor. I don’t think I can think of anyone else that complains as much as you do”, and he scoffed. “Well, there’s you. I  _can_  think of something else we could do”, and you stared into his eyes, even more blue because of the redness around his pupils. And you knew what he was suggesting. You flirted sometimes, though you never really payed attention to it. But now, with the smoke clouding your brain, and his eyes staring deep into yours, you thought that he could do whatever he wanted with you.

And he did.

He moved his hand to your thigh, pulling you closer to him on the couch, as you kept looking into his eyes. He didn’t break the contact, almost as if he was checking how far he could go before you stopped him.

But you never did.

_I’m scared_

_I’ve never fallen from quite this high_

_Falling into your ocean eyes_

_Those ocean eyes_

You were still friends with him, but you noticed a change in your relationship. Every time he’d come home with a girl after a gig, you felt an ache on your chest. You were used to that, emotional pain, but never before from him. You didn’t realize how much influence he had over you. How much you could care about him.

And it was made worse by the fact that every few weeks, you would both fuck again - quick, messy, rough; you barely looked at each other. But you never really talked about it, not even joked about it to each other. “Don’t overthink this”, you told yourself in the mirror after a night with him, throwing water in your face, the bruises he made on your neck and cleavage staring back at you.

And even when those marks disappeared, you could still feel his touch on your skin. You forced yourself to go out with other people, but it was always him that ended up invading your mind.

He got further under your skin than anyone else; he wasn’t just a good lay. He made you feel vulnerable, exposed, but also noticed. He saw everything that was wrong with you and was still there.

Cause the thing is, you knew his worst, too. His cheating on other girls - even with you, or when he’d call three girls in the same night just because he wasn’t sure who would really come, and the three girls did, and he would then entertain two of them as the third waited on your living room, not in the mood for something groupal. The girls who waited on him to finish were usually pretty nice with you, since they visibly didn’t care for sharing - one of them actually helped you pick an outfit to go out to a pub, one day.

And you were also used to his aggressive, drunk self that usually came before he started to vomit, and you’d always help him - holding his sweaty strands back, convincing him to take a cold shower, going out to the deli and getting him chips and a coke so he had something to eat before passing out. He’d done the same for you multiple times.

Or the first time you did molly together on a music festival - Roger bit his lips until they blead, and you kept dancing even after the sun went up again, burning your shoulders under the sun. The two of you took care of each other afterwards, and swore off molly.

You felt like a married couple, sometimes; only the two of you living in the same flat for nearly a year, occasionally fucking, knowing each other inside out. This thought only made it hurt more when you saw him with a girl that wasn’t you.

And now, every time you fucked, you had to force yourself off the bed so you wouldn’t sleep on his arms, no matter how much you wanted.

_No fair_

_You really know how to make me cry_

_When you gimme those ocean eyes_

_I’m scared_

_I’ve never fallen from quite this high_

_Falling into your ocean eyes_

_Those ocean eyes_

And then he brought a friend home one night - a guy that joined the band after the other guy, Tim, left. You know Brian, you even hang out with Brian when you go to Roger’s shows and rehearsals, but you never really clicked.

Now this guy, Freddie, was almost a male version of you: very artistic, always scribbling something. Eventually, when Roger and you decided to move to a bigger flat, you invited Freddie to split the rent and live on the other room the flat had.

You felt close to Freddie, and you always helped each other out when drawing, borrowing pencils and brushes whenever necessary, and Roger just watched - he couldn’t really participate in this new dynamic.

You even nearly stopped the casual fucking - the incidents, for the lack of a better word, would happen less often. It was almost like he felt Freddie was replacing him in every aspect of your life, but he wasn’t - you and Freddie didn’t see each other that way. But to admit it to Roger would be to admit you felt different with him, and you didn’t want him to feel sorry for you as he rejected you.

Once you noticed that he feels replaced, though, you started to involve Roger in your drawings again - asking him to pose for you, drawing his car.

And that was good for you too, because you couldn’t take him off your mind, now that you’re getting less of him. He even started to show up in your school work, you knowing his face features so well that you drew him on everything.

One of your works was to remake pictures and cover art from pop culture with your own trace - and there was Roger’s face in the same pose and with the same dim lights as Marlene Dietrich (one of Freddie’s favourite pictures to the point where he has it framed in your living room), and there’s Roger’s face and body in the remake of the cover of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, and there’s Roger in the cover art for Aladdin Sane.

You didn’t want to look creepy - and you know how creepy it was that you kept drawing your friend in each and every drawing and painting you did.

But you’re used to drawing him - you started it when you were both 14. You knew the exact curve of his lips, the bridge of his nose, the format of his eyes.

_I’ve been walking through_

_A world gone blind_

_Can’t stop thinking of your diamond mind_

And now you had to do oil paintings of the human physique - a nightmare for you, completely unaccustomed to oil paint. So you painted the body you knew best, and the one that you craved the most. It’s been two months since the last time you had sex with Roger.

And one day, Roger came home and saw a painting on one of your easels in the living room - not an odd sight. But the painting itself caught his attention - a very detailed, realistic naked man. Once he got closer, he noticed how the man’s skin tone was close to his, how he had the same haircut… the same face as Roger.

The realization hit him -  _you drew him naked_.

He blushed.

Cause he always called himself your muse, but this was intimate - this was the way he’d lay in bed after you had sex. A part of your friendship that you never discussed.

He always thought of you as someone who’s too cool for him - you never once looked intimidated by his jokes, flirting, whatever. You didn’t really care. He thought you didn’t give a fuck about the two of you - especially now that you had Freddie.

He tried to get mad at one of you two - but Freddie was too nice and a good frontman, so he couldn’t fight him, and he could never get mad at you. All you had to do was say “Rog”, in your husky voice and he’d be on his knees.

That was so unlike him. He was embarrassed, so he tried to play it cool. Pretend he wasn’t hurt at the fact that you were probably fucking Freddie on his back.

But this drawing of him in a very vulnerable, intimate moment made him change his mind. Maybe you did care for him. Maybe those moments mattered to you almost as much as they mattered to him.

So he walked to your room, and knocked lightly on the door, getting in before you said “Come in”. Because you never said it; you were listening to Purple Haze at maximum volume, only wearing a baggy white shirt with paint everywhere. He could see your black panties peeking from under it as you swayed your hips to the rhythm of the music.

He then looked to what you were drawing - he recognized his hair and body again. You were painting him nude, yet again. A devilish smirk appeared on his lips.

“Hey, Y/N”, he screamed, and you jumped out of surprise, your eyes wide as you turned to face him. “Roger, what the fuck are you doing here?”, you asked, trying to normalize your breathing.

“Oh, just checking out your paintings. It’s a pretty hot guy you have as a model… I wonder who he is”, he told you, ironic, walking closer to the painting.

You blushed for a moment, like a child getting caught. But you soon went back to your devil-may-care attitude - the one he was more familiar with. “Just painted the body I’m more familiar with”, you shrugged, turning back to your painting so you didn’t have to see his reaction. It’s the first time one of you references the sex.

“It’s fine. I’m honoured, really”, he said, moving behind the easel so he could see your face as you worked. “My pleasure”, you told him, dry. “I came here to offer my help, really”, he told you, unbuttoning his shirt. “Thought you could use the real life model to make work easier”, he grinned, and you looked at him. His voice sounded relaxed as usual, but his face looked tense. He was scared that you’d turn him down.

He looked so vulnerable, yet so beautiful - your bedroom had the best lighting in the house, and the sun on his skin made him look like Apollo himself, luminous.

“Sure. That’ll definitely make the work flow faster”, you shrugged again, but you felt a genuine smile forming as you saw him relax and start undressing.

_Careful creature_

_Made friends with time_

_He left her lonely with a diamond mind_

_And those ocean eyes_

And you painted him many times, for this project, for the ones that came after it, for your personal projects. It really made you bond again - but you didn’t have sex anymore, which was confusing, cause you were seeing him naked more than ever, as he posed nude whenever you asked.

You were conscious that you were going out with even less guys, and that Roger was seeing less girls. Freddie was aware of your newfound chemistry, and always made jokes about how it felt to live third wheeling. You laughed, and Roger too, but you didn’t knew what to do about it.

Then, one Sunday, Roger appeared in your doorframe, half dressed, a backpack open on his hands. “Do you wanna spend the day at the beach?”, he asked, and you looked confused. “Roger, it’s already autumn”, you told him, and went back to scribbling. You were drawing his hands - now that he was wearing rings, they posed a new challenge to you.

“And what about it? It’s better, actually. No one will be there to annoy us. You could paint me… C'mon, Y/N”, he said, and you considered. It would be quite an impressive painting - the blue in his eyes and the blue of the ocean, the sand, his hair and skin mixing, too.

“Ok, Rog”, you said, and started to pack your materials. “See you in my car in five minutes, then”, he told you, and went back to dressing and packing at the same time.

The car ride there was a bit weird - you couldn’t find a subject to talk to him, overthinking every idea he had. He wasn’t starting any conversations, either.

Then once you got to the beach, you unpacked your materials, and he stood in front of you. “What should I do?”, he asked, a bit insecure, and you let out a sigh. You didn’t want to spend the afternoon in this uncomfortable feeling around him.

So you got up and said “Join me”, as you started undressing, and wearing only your underwear, you jumped inside the cold water.

You screamed when the freezing sea touched your skin, and you soon heard Roger scream, too. “Y/N, why the fuck did you get me inside the water? It’s freezing!”, he screamed, and you laughed. “Thought you could handle some cold water, Taylor. But apparently I’m wrong”, you told him, and splashed water on his face. “Oh, so you want war?” he asked, and started to tickle you.

You spent some time in the ocean, your bodies getting used to the temperature, joking and swimming. Once the sun got closer to the horizon, bathing everything in a golden light, you told Roger it was time to paint. You got off the water, and he followed you, watching your body as your underwear clinged to your wet skin.

But when you got to wear the beach towel was covering the sand - the perfect place for you to paint him - you were shaking, the cold wind taking away your body heat. “Hey, just a second”, Roger told you before handing you a towel. After you dried yourself, he offered you one of his fur coats that was in his bag. You accepted it, the fur immediately conserving your body temperature, and you started to relax. Roger got another fur coat for himself, and also a bottle of tequila and a blunt from the bag.

“Cheers”, he said, after drinking straight from the bottle and passing it to you. You drank, too, as he started to light up the blunt.

“How should I pose?”, he asked, passing you the blunt.

“Just stay the way you are. It’s perfect”, you told him, and you started mixing the tones.

The painting was almost ready and the sun was setting as you got to Roger’s eyes. He stopped posing for a moment so he could start a fire to warm the both of you.

“Thanks”, you said, and he shrugged. “A way to apologize for barely passing you the blunt”, he said, and you laughed. “It’s okay, I barely passed you the tequila”, you shrugged, too.

As you went back to painting, you were frustrated at his eyes. You just couldn’t get their color right. He noticed you were stressed.

“Did I do anything wrong?”, he asked, and you laughed. “No, Rog. I just can’t get your eye colour right”, you told him. “Why is that?” he asked again, and you shrugged again. “Don’t know. They’re usually pretty hard to get right, but I can do it most of the times”, you said.

Maybe it was the reflex of the fire in his eyes. “I’ll get a closer look at them, okay?”, you asked, putting your work to the side and leaning into him, your weight on your hands and knees.

Roger looked at your body, warmly lit by the fire by your side, your black lingerie in contrast with the caramel fur. He knew how soft your skin was, and he craved feeling in on the tip of his fingers.

So he moved one of his hands so he could cup your jaw, and he saw as your breathing hitched. He hasn’t touched you like this in months.

You moved one of your own hands to cup his face, and he felt the friction of the sand on your skin against him as you pulled him closer to a kiss.

None of you closed your eyes during the slow kiss.

You pushed him onto his back, and pressed his body against the sand with your own. You grinded against him as you kissed him again, and he closed his eyes as he groaned in response.

But you didn’t want to hurry it - this was the first time you were fucking in months, yeah, but also the first time in felt so intimate - you were actually looking at each other during some of the kiss, and he caressed your waist under the coat, your thighs, with caring - he was not being rough for the first time. You could feel his bulge against your core, and you kept moving against it as you kissed him.

Until he had enough and started pulling your panties down, his index finger brushing against your skin under the elastic band.

You started pushing his underwear down, too, and his cock was already hard. You got on your knees, straddling him, so he could sit and take his boxers off. You then moved your bare core against the tip of his member. You both moaned.

“Just fuck me”, he mumbled under his breath, his perfect lips parted. You leaned into him so you could kiss him as you pushed your body down his cock until he bottomed out inside of you.

You stayed there for a few moments, kissing him slowly, before you started riding him.

It was slow at first, and he kept his eyes on you, the electric blue driving you mad - everything around you seemed to pale in comparison. You only broke eye contact once one of you closed your eyes to moan or curse.

It was a different feeling - you could still feel the fabric of your bra against your breast as you kept riding him, moving faster and trying to keep a rhythm. You unclasped your bra, and Roger helped you off your coat and bra, and started kissing your breasts, but you could see he was having a hard time focusing on them, as you kept riding him. He was close.

But you needed to see more of him so you could come. “I need to see you”, you told him, and he nodded, looking at you through his lashes and giving you a weak smirk as he took the coat off.

The cold wind was hard on your skin, but the temperature shock made you more turned on. Roger was even closer, and started to press sloppy kisses to your neck as leaned his head against your shoulder. You felt your legs burning of the effort of riding him, but you were now getting close, too, as you felt his skin against your hard nipples.

He moved his hand from your waist to your sensitive clit, and massaged it. You nearly screamed - the extra stimulation was what you needed to reach your climax, and he moved his hands to your hips to help you ride him through your high.

You felt tired and sleepy, but you kept riding him with his help, your head on his neck now, and he could feel your heavy breathing against his skin, and soon you could see the veins on his neck pop and his jaw clench as he reached his climax.

None of you moved for a few moments, until Roger felt you shiver in his arms, breaking up his embrace to get your coat.

You got off of him so he could get his own coat, but you didn’t got up - you pushed him down again, covering your bodies with the coat as if it was a duvet. He chuckled as you put your head in his chest, and you look up only to see him facing you.

At that moment, the electric blue of his gaze made every other shade of blue around you even more intense - the sea and the sky. All because of his ocean eyes.


End file.
